Page 8 of Gods and Graves

CHAPTER EIGHT

THEA

W e walk for hours.

Well, they walk. I simply hold on to Krystian for dear life.

“Why didn’t you guys take a car or something?” I grumble, fiddling with the collar of Krystian’s shirt.

I like the feel of the fabric sliding against my fingers.

“Because you can’t drive a goddamn car through the forest,” Everett snaps.

He doesn’t seem to like me much.

“And we were following the hellhound,” Zaid adds. He, too, isn’t walking. At some point, his legs morphed into shadows, and he simply floats above the forest floor. “We had to be stealthy.”

“Does Everett even know the meaning of that word?” I ask seriously, regarding the large, sexy shifter.

He’s a mountain of muscle, and each footstep he takes makes the ground shake and tremble.

Everett tosses me a dirty look over his shoulder and then turns away with a scoff.

“Tough crowd,” I whisper in Krystian’s ear.

The elf shivers.

“So…when you’re not hunting monsters, what do you like to do in your spare time?” I ask, flicking my gaze from face to face.

When no one immediately answers, my smile fades.

Oookay. Awkward.

Then Zaid clears his throat and flashes me a timid smile, one that makes him appear boyish and innocent. I decide I like him the best. He’s the nicest.

“I have a collection of books I love to read, though I haven’t had the chance in a while.” Color crawls up his neck and settles in his cheeks.

“Oh my god!” I squeal and tighten my grip on Krystian instinctively, my arms digging into his neck.

He sputters and stumbles, and I release my chokehold. Oops.

“You like to read? I love to read! What are some of your favorites? Are you in a book club? I’ve always wanted to join a book club, but…you know…there’s a lack of opportunities where I’m from.”

Zaid absently scratches at the back of his neck, still seeming embarrassed.

But why would he be? Books are amazing.

“Errr. Thrillers, mostly.”

“And romance.” Krystian turns his head to stare at me, waggling his eyebrows. “He loves a good smutty romance.”

“I don’t blame him,” I respond seriously. “Some of the best plots and character development I’ve read were from romance books.”

Zaid’s lips begin to twitch at the corners, and he ducks his head.

“She’s right, you know.”

Of course I am.

Zaid and I will totally have to set a time where we can discuss all things books. I have a shelf in my bedroom that changes constantly—new books coming and going faster than I can read them. I don’t know if the magic in the room is responding to my mood somehow or if there’s something else at play.

“So Zaid likes to read. What about the rest of you?” I lower my chin so it can fit snugly on Krystian’s shoulder. “Let me guess. You like archery?”

Krystian’s chuckle reverberates through me, and liquid heat infuses my veins.

“I wouldn’t say that, love. Am I good at it? Yes. Do I like it?” He shrugs, the movement shifting me. “Not necessarily.”

“So what do you like?”

He stops walking and cants his head to the side, considering. The fingers gripping my thighs flex and twitch.

“Huh. I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that before.” A note of wonder enters his voice.

“Well, I’m asking now. What do you like?”

A smile scrawls over his face. “Video games.”

“Video games.” I blink at him.

The man is basically a live-action video game—complete with the kick-ass bow and arrow set.

“I don’t play them often, but it’s fun. Relaxing. I like being able to kill monsters, knowing I won’t die myself. You get do-overs in video games. Resets. Saves. Not so much in real life.”

An unfamiliar emotion sits in my stomach like a poisoned blade. I can’t put a name on what it is. Pity, maybe? No, that doesn’t sound right.

Sympathy?

No…

Empathy.

Yes, that’s it.

I’m empathetic. I can understand exactly what it’s like to be trapped in a role you don’t want to play.

“Well, maybe if I’m still around, we can play a game together?” I ask tentatively, suddenly feeling shy.

Krystian’s answering smile causes the nerves swirling in my belly to dissipate, replaced by a baking, pervasive heat.

“It’s a date,” he says.

Everett scoffs and shakes his head.

“Well? What about you, big guy? What do you like to do in your spare time?” I ask him, raising my voice to make sure he hears me.

He glares at me over his shoulder, his eyes like shards of ice, sharp enough to do irreparable damage. Of course he doesn’t answer, simply stalks farther ahead like he wishes to escape me and my questions.

Rude.

“Rafael? What about you?” I turn towards the last member of the team—and the most mysterious one.

So far, he hasn’t said more than a few words at a time, but I can feel his gaze on me like a physical caress, pulling me under in a riptide I can’t escape.

Each sweep of his eyes causes my heart to smash against my ribs and goose bumps to pebble on my arms. It’s unnerving and terrifying and exciting in a way I can’t articulate.

“I like to kill things,” he whispers.

His voice is deep and raspy, almost husky.

I chuckle. “I mean, besides killing things. What do you like to do?”

“I told you. Kill things.” Through the blood smeared on his face, his brown eyes penetrate my defenses.

I suddenly feel uncomfortable—too hot, too itchy—and I wiggle slightly. Krystian slaps my thigh lightly in warning.

“Stop moving,” he reprimands.

“Sorry.” I wince.

We finally break through the tree line and onto an empty street. In the distance, I can see the lights of a nearby town and hear the honking of horns.

After what feels like hours later—but Krystian assures me it’s only ten minutes—we arrive at a dilapidated motel that has seen better days.

“I thought you said you guys were staying in a hotel?” I arch an eyebrow in Everett’s direction.

“We are.” He stares at me like I’m a turd who gained arms, legs, and abruptly developed a sentient mind.

“This is a motel,” I point out. “Hotels have doors to the rooms on the inside. Motels have them on the outside.”

Everett seriously looks as if he’s going to strangle me.

“Same fucking thing,” he grits out.

“Actually—”

One of Krystian’s hands leaves my thigh and moves to my mouth, covering it.

“Let’s not poke him any further than we have to, okay?” Despite his words, laughter rings in his voice, the sound having the acrobats in my stomach doing backflips instead of mere somersaults.

Everett leads us to two rooms side by side. He claps his hands together and spins to face us.

“All right. Let’s clean up, then maybe get some food, okay?” He purposely doesn’t look in my direction—making it clear I’m not invited on their little outing.

Whatever. I don’t mind crashing.

“Yeah. Someone has a little blood on him ,” I stage-whisper, jerking my chin towards a blood-drenched Rafael.

The fae doesn’t even blink.

Everett grinds his molars together. Then, without another word, he storms inside the room closest to him. Rafael regards me for a second longer—my heart stuttering with warning at the possessive, predatorial gleam in his gaze—before he follows after Everett.

Leaving me alone with a shy wraith and a grinning elf.

“Well.” I playfully squeeze Krystian’s ear. “Aren’t you going to invite me into your room?”

Zaid and Krystian exchange a glance, before the former sighs and digs in his back pocket for a key card. Krystian pushes the door open with me still clinging to his back.

The room—like the rest of the motel—is rundown.

Two queen-sized beds are separated by a tiny nightstand holding a remote control, a phone, and what appears to be a channel brochure.

A television is mounted on the far wall with a dresser underneath it.

A floral armchair rests in the corner of the room, numerous holes adorning its surface.

There’s a door opposite the entrance that no doubt leads to a bathroom.

“You know…” I muse as Krystian lowers me to the ground. “Usually, guys buy a woman dinner before bringing her back to their room.”

Zaid snorts as he moves to lie on one of the beds. Krystian makes a beeline towards the bathroom.

“Most guys don’t have girls quite literally appearing out of thin air in front of them.” He’s silent for a moment, his gaze contemplative, before he sits up. “I never thanked you. For saving my life, I mean.”

I wave away his thanks. “Honestly, I’m just surprised it worked. It never has before.”

“You tried to save people before?” His brows draw together, creating an adorable furrow in the center of his forehead.

“At first,” I confess, fiddling with the hem of my pink dress, admiring the way it sparkles in the artificial light. “But after three hundred or so reaped souls, I realized there was no point in even trying. Nothing I did or said changed anything.”

“So why did you try with me?” Zaid’s earnest eyes make my heart flutter.

“I…I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t want you to die.”

“But why me?” he presses, scooting across the bed until he’s directly in front of me, his thighs boxing me in.

He reaches for my hands, his touch soft. This… This is what I imagine feathers would feel like.

He’s close. Too close.

The air feels thick, and I suddenly can’t breathe. And since air seems to be a necessity now that I’m corporeal, that’s bad. Really, really bad. I don’t know what to say. What to do.

Fortunately, I’m saved from responding by the door to the bathroom opening and Krystian stepping back out. In his hands is a pile of clothes.

“These might fit you,” he tells me, dropping them onto the empty bed. He then seems to notice how quiet the room has become—and how unnaturally close I am to Zaid. “Am I interrupting something?”

I jerk away from the wraith like I’ve been electrocuted.

“N-no!” I stutter out, at the exact moment Zaid says, “Yes.”

Traitor.

Krystian smirks before his smile fades, all traces of humor and levity stripped away.

“I thought you could change into some pants and a shirt. Don’t get me wrong. The dress you’re wearing is hot as fuck, but it’s a little old-fashioned. And it can be a little revealing at certain angles.”

“A little revealing?” I frown and drop my gaze.

The dress is significantly shorter in the front than the back, but the train should’ve covered all of the important bits. Unless someone was staring at me from the side when I was on Krystian’s back?—

“Zaid!” I squeal, whirling on him.

His face turns beet red.

“I’m going to the bathroom!” He practically launches himself off the bed.

Krystian chuckles again. “I also grabbed you a pair of shoes. They’re going to be too big on you, but they’ll work for now. If we need to, we can stop at the store tomorrow morning.”

My chest feels compressed, my ribs too tiny to contain my heart and lungs.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I whisper.

“Because you saved my brother,” Krystian answers simply—and maybe to him, that’s all there is to it. “We’ll protect you, Thea. Even Everett, though he’ll fight you tooth and nail before admitting it.”

Unexpected tears burn my eyes. “I… I… Thank you. I mean it. I want to make sure you know how much I appreciate you—all of you. Especially if I were to disappear again.”

God, I hope that doesn’t happen—at least not anytime soon. There’s no pain. No hallucinations. No incessant tuggings in my chest. No isolation.

A muscle in his cheek flutters. “We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. Now…” He claps his hands together and focuses back on the clothes. “Get changed. We need to get some food in you before you wither away on us.”